


Firsts

by poetroe



Series: Fire and Ice [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fire Powers, Ice Powers, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetroe/pseuds/poetroe
Summary: Every kid in this world knows that heroes aren’t born as heroes. No, all heroes have their origin stories. Got bit by a radioactive spider, got slam-dunked into a vat with nuclear waste, got struck by lightning… There’s always a reason why people turn out the way they do. The same is true for the hero of this story.A Nightflame origin story.





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please read Fire and Ice before reading this!
> 
> So, though I wanted to follow Emma’s canon childhood as much as possible with this fic, you might notice that the dates here don’t correspond with her age in the show (I changed her birthyear from 1983 to 1990). I wanted to make her a bit younger than the Emma we know, and this is my own AU so!! Y’all will have to deal!! For clarity’s sake and to make everything fit with this fic, Fire and Ice takes place at the end of 2016/beginning of 2017 and Reintegration in the spring of 2017. Anyways this fic is based around a theme of “firsts” for Emma/Nightflame, I enjoyed writing it and I hope you guys like it and have fun while reading! As always I appreciate all your kudos and comments!

Every kid in this world knows that heroes aren’t born as heroes. No, all heroes have their origin stories. Got bit by a radioactive spider, got slam-dunked into a vat with nuclear waste, got struck by lightning… There’s always a reason why people turn out the way they do. The same is true for the hero of this story; the elusive _Nightflame_.

Summer, 1997

The first time Nightflame discovers her fire powers, she is seven years old, and she goes by Emma. She lives in a house with her two foster parents, and three other foster kids. Jimmy is the oldest; he’s twelve. Despite his age, Emma matches his height when she stands on the tips of her toes. There is another boy named Tim, who used to be seven like Emma, but whose birthday they celebrated only a couple weeks back. Emma remembers the candles on the cake vividly; blowing them out would grant you a wish, but Emma thinks that if it had been her cake, she would’ve let them burn on. Not because she doesn’t have any wishes, but because the soft flickering of the flames on those little candles captivates her in a way nothing else manages to. There’s another girl living with them, as well. She got here over the summer and Emma had been glad to have someone to play with who isn’t as rough and excitable as Jim and Tim are. Charlotte is five, but very clever for her age. She tells Emma that she’s glad to live here, in a house where they all have their separate rooms, and a big backyard to play in. Emma agrees.

“Look, kids,” John, their foster dad, says. It’s another sunny afternoon and he’s showing them how to burn their names into a piece of wood. “If you angle the magnifying glass just right, and hold it still over the wood like this…” A yellow-white dot appears under the magnifying glass and as John holds the glass still, small swirls of smoke start twirling up from the dot, into the air.

“Woah!” Jimmy exclaims, already leaning forward and reaching over to grab the magnifying glass from John’s hand. They only have one, so they are going to have to share. Emma looks on as Jimmy and John start wrestling over the magnifying glass, a small smile on her face as she clutches her own piece of wood.

“Do you know how to write your name?” Emma says as she turns to her youngest and newest sibling. Charlotte is watching everything that goes on in the yard with big eyes. The girl thinks for a second after Emma asks her the question, then frowns and shakes her head.

“It starts with a C,” she says, and Emma nods. She has an idea. Quick as her body allows her to move, she drops the wood, runs inside and back out again, a pen clutched in her hand and a notebook in the other.

“Charlotte,” Emma says, enunciating the name as clearly as she can, while carefully writing it down at the same time. C-H-A-R-L-O-T, the paper says. “That doesn’t look right,” Emma frowns. “What if we just called you Charlie?”

“Charlie is a boy’s name,” Charlotte says with a doubtful expression on her face.

“Well, yeah,” Emma responds, “but I know how to write that. See?” She pushes the notebook, now filled with little blue scribbles, into Charlotte’s hands. Charlotte carefully observes the letters, before nodding resolutely.

“That’s good,” she remarks. Emma grins, then glances over to John and the boys, who are still laughing and running around with the magnifying glass.

“This way we’ll never get a turn,” she huffs, before resolutely standing up and marching towards Jim and Tim. With no hesitation, she elbows her way into their scuffle and snatches the magnifying glass from Jimmy’s hand. Ignoring their indignant shouting, Emma contently walked back to Charlotte, and plopped down next to the girl on the grass. “Here,” she says as she hands Charlotte the magnifying glass, “you can try it.” The brightness of Charlotte’s smile matches the brightness of the day, and she wastes no time in carefully laying her piece of wood down and holding the magnifying glass as still as possible above it. Emma grabs her wrist, carefully moving it up and down until the white dot appears again.

They all get to try it after that, first Charlotte, then Tim and Jimmy, and somehow Emma is the last one who still has to go. The only problem is that Jimmy, like he’d done before, has been totally hogging the magnifying glass for the last half hour. Emma has been silently grumbling from the sidelines, watching as Jim writes not just his name, but also all other kinds of words and shapes, before moving on to patches of grass. It’s when he moves on to burning ants that Emma has finally had enough.

“Stop that, Jimmy,” she says as she walks up to him. “It’s my turn now.” Jimmy shoots her a look, then shrugs it off and just continues where he left off. Emma frowns; she can already feel herself getting angrier. Jimmy _always_ does this. Just because he’s the oldest among them, he thinks he can get away with nagging Emma and the others, bordering on bullying and, in this case, _hogging the damn magnifying glass_. Enough is enough.

Resolutely, Emma squares her shoulders and prepares herself for the brawl that will definitely break out, before kicking the magnifying glass out of Jimmy’s hands as hard as she can. Jimmy shouts out in pain and surprise, then directs his anger towards Emma.

“You _bitch_!” he exclaims, and Emma can already feel angry tears burning behind her eyes at the name-calling. She grits her teeth and then Jimmy’s hands are on her shoulders, pushing her down. Jimmy might not be that much bigger than Emma, but he’s definitely stronger with the five years he’s got on her. Despite all this, Emma has always been a resourceful kid; so she pushes a hand in his face, then kicks him between the legs. Jimmy instantly lets her go, instead falling to the ground with his hands over his crotch, moaning in pain. Emma quickly grabs the magnifying glass from where it had fallen, and runs back into the house, to her room.

She’s not even inside yet when she hears Jimmy, injuries already forgotten, running after her. Emma slams the door to her room shut and leans against it, but Jimmy manages to crack it open regardless. John is shouting things from somewhere in the house and Emma realizes that, once again, she’s in trouble; but she’d accept any punishment if it means putting Jim in his place once and for all. Jimmy has managed to open the door far enough to get a foot in, now.

“Stop it,” Emma shouts, “go away, Jimmy! I mean it!”

“Give me the magnifying glass!” Jimmy shouts back. He pushes against the door again, then manages to muscle his way into Emma’s room, and suddenly there is nothing separating them anymore. Anger and a sense of righteousness and justice are burning within Emma, effectively evaporating any fear and uncertainty that lingered in her body. She’s not afraid of Jimmy anymore. Jimmy is walking forward now and grabs her wrist, hard enough to make it hurt. Emma bites her lip as tears well up in her eyes. Her face is heating up and the tears start spilling over, rolling down over her cheeks one by one.

“Stop it,” Emma repeats, but it sounds a little like defeat, now. Jimmy forcefully pries her fingers open. No. Emma refuses to give it up. Before she knows what’s happening, heat erupts from her hands in a bright flash, effectively knocking her backwards. Emma hears Jimmy cry out, but this time it sounds much more anguished than back in the yard. She can also hear a familiar crackling, as well as the smell of smoke in the air. Slowly, Emma sits back up. Her entire room is ablaze, flames licking up as high as the ceiling. The tears come steadily now, as Emma watches her possessions, her memories, slowly being consumed by the fire.

It doesn’t even occur to her that she has to leave this room full of flames until John comes bursting in, looking at her with horror in his eyes. Jimmy is right behind him, yelling about fire with fear in his voice, about Emma, about her being a _freak._ Then John looks around the room, already coughing on the thick smoke, and grabs Emma by the arm, dragging her out.

Charlotte and Tim are already standing outside in the backyard when Emma gets there, escorted on both sides by John and Jimmy. The sun is still beating down, as it has all afternoon, when they watch their house being eaten entirely by the flames. At one point the police get there, as well as the fire brigade, but it quickly becomes painfully clear that there is not really anything left to be saved. Charlotte has started crying, Jimmy keeps shooting her angry looks and Tim just sits on the grass, looking defeated. Emma thinks she has never felt worse than this.

Winter, 2005

Emma is fifteen and alone. She’s been living on the streets of Boston on and off, surviving on whatever she finds and gets away with stealing. The cold is not really an issue, not when she has fire in her veins. It’s all she can really rely on now, since her bourgeoning fire powers have gotten her kicked out of two foster homes and three group homes already. Child protection services are probably looking for her, waiting patiently for Emma to turn up somewhere so they can throw her right back into the system. Emma huffs, her breath visible in the freezing night air. It’s no use. She’d end up setting something on fire again, and then that would be that for another set of disappointed foster parents. Emma Swan, the endless problem child.

She tries not to use her powers apart from warming herself up, but it gets difficult. Emma knows shoplifting attracts way less attention than threatening someone to empty the cash register with flames flaring up from the palms of her hands, but it gets hard to resist the temptation when she’s dirty, tired, and most of all so hungry that the two snickers bars stuffed in her pockets are probably not going to cut it. Still, she tries; and she’s rewarded for it with the freedom of going wherever she wants to go, and using her powers as freely as she likes.

Everyone, from her foster dad John to the psychologists at her last group home have told her to suppress the fire, to keep a lid on it and keep that part of her hidden away. They’re all fools, Emma thinks, for thinking that the flames within her can be contained. They’re wild and unpredictable, and Emma has only just recently grasped how to control them. They’re her power, her protection, her livelihood: on nights like these, whenever she feels shitty and alone like this, Emma would find a bodega, melt down the lock and help herself to some cash from the register, some snacks and a drink. Then she’d find the run-down motel where they don’t ask too many questions and get herself a room to spend the night.

The flames get Emma money in a number of ways. The bodega break-ins, but also by scaring anyone who dares to pass her in a dark alleyway into given her their wallets. It’s fine like this, just Emma and the fire within her. No one gets too close, and she survives.

This all changes with Ruby. Emma is shuffling around her usual turf, a part of the city that is just a little more seedy and criminal than the rest of it. Her money ran out yesterday and she hasn’t eaten since, and on top of that it’s the coldest it’s been all week. Emma is not really paying attention to her surroundings, opting instead to go over her options. She could look and see if there is another corner store nearby worth breaking in to, or she could rob someone again… Not that she was particularly feeling like being subjected to those looks of horror again. Emma, hungry and entirely caught up in her thoughts, didn’t even see the girl until she bumped right into her.

“Shit, sorry,” Emma mumbles quickly, before attempting to move on. The girl stops her, however.

“That’s okay,” she says with a smile. She has a bright red streak in her hair and her hand is on Emma’s shoulder, and Emma is a bit stunned. How long has it been since anyone wasn’t afraid to touch her, again? “Say, haven’t I seen you around here before?”

“Uh, yeah, probably,” Emma answers weakly.

“So where do you live?” the girl asks and, likely sensing Emma’s reluctance to answer, says: “I’m Ruby. What’s your name?” Ruby drops the hand that rested on Emma’s shoulder and extends it towards Emma. She doesn’t take it.

“I’m Emma,” Emma answers. “And I don’t really live anywhere. I just…” She trails off, but the look in Ruby’s eyes tell Emma she understands.

“You live on the street, huh?” Ruby says, and Emma nods, defeated. It’s one thing to be in a situation like this, but it’s something else entirely to hear it out of someone else’s mouth. “That okay,” Ruby continues, “I used to as well. So then, Emma—” A wicked grin appears on the girl’s face. “—tell me, how do you usually get by? For me, it used to be cars. I’ve stolen just about everything, from minivans to European street racing cars.” For the second time, Emma is stunned into silence.

“I usually just break into bodega’s and steal stuff,” she says after a moment. “Or scare people into giving me their money.”

“Scare people?” Ruby asks. She’s started leaning forward, all the way up in Emma’s personal space, obviously intrigued by her. “How?” Emma reluctantly takes a step backwards.

“You don’t wanna know,” she mutters.

“No, no, I do!” Ruby exclaims. “Come on, Emma, show me! I don’t scare easily, y’know.”

“You’ll think I’m a freak,” Emma says, looking down. Her sneakers are starting to wear a little thin, she’d have to save up some money to get a new pair. Ruby grabs her shoulder again.

“No, I won’t,” she says resolutely. “Tell you what, if you manage to catch me off guard, I’ll buy you dinner.” Emma wants to say that that’s ridiculous; it’s eleven at night, and Ruby would most likely run away anyways, but her stomach has been growling all day and is telling her that she can at least try.

“Okay,” Emma says, before grabbing the hand that’s on her shoulder and dragging Ruby off to an abandoned side street. She goes to stand opposite to Ruby, a few feet between them, with her palms turned skyward. “So, I usually just do a little something like this—” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Emma lets her fire burst up from her hands. They’re big and wild, reaching about four feet into the sky, and when Emma glances at Ruby’s expression through the heat, it’s nothing at all like she’s used to. Instead of fear or panic, Ruby’s smiling ecstatically. A little surprised, Emma lets her flames fiddle out.

“Woah, shit, that was _crazy_!” Ruby blurts out. “How did you do that?” Emma shrugs.

“I don’t know, exactly,” she answers with a small smile. “It’s just something I can do.”

“Jesus,” Ruby says, “that was the best thing I’ve seen in my whole life. Well, I guess I owe you dinner now, huh?” Emma shrugs.

“Yeah,” she says, “or, you could get us some meat while I—” Emma holds up her index finger and lets a flame dance above the tip for dramatic effect. “—heat up the grill.” She grins as Ruby doubles over laughing. Emma could never have imagined how refreshing it is to have someone react positively to her powers, for a change. It’s like a weight has been lifted from her stomach, a feeling of uncertainty that has had Emma in its grasp for years now, finally dissipated. With Ruby’s arm linked with her own and the two of them hurrying to get to the nearest diner before it closes, Emma doesn’t think she’s ever felt happier.

Winter, 2005

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Emma is huddled close to Ruby on a park bench. She’s holding Ruby’s hands, carefully channeling her fire to warm their joined fingers, concentration as to not accidentally burn Ruby. They’ve become fast friends during these last three weeks and ever since they met, Emma has been feeling on top of the world. Ruby hangs out with her nearly every day, save from the weekends, during which she has to visit her grandmother. That’s fine by Emma, as long as Ruby shows up to their usual meet-up spot on Monday—the side street where Emma had first shown Ruby her powers.

Ruby has taught her a lot. How to break in and hot-wire a car, for example. And then how to drive a car. She showed Emma all the best places in the city to dumpster dive, she introduced Emma to Mr. Gold, a man willing to take anything off her hands without asking any hard questions. She also taught Emma what to watch out for when it came to men. All in all, Emma learned more in these past two weeks than she had in the two whole years that preceded it.

She learned something about herself, too. Ruby might have warned her about boys and what all of them want, but when they are out on the street together, just the two of them, it exhilarates Emma in a way no boy could possibly imitate. Ruby is just so… carefree. Happy. When they’re together, Emma never wants to leave. When she’s alone, Ruby is all she can think about. Her smile, the kind look in her eyes when she watches Emma, that ridiculous red streak in her hair that keeps fading, but she keeps dyeing. And now they’re here, on a freezing December 31st, holding hands. Emma knows she’s blushing, and she’s kind of glad she has the cold to blame for it.

“So,” she says, because they’ve both been silent for a while, “do you have any New Year’s resolutions?” Ruby sighs and looks at the cloudy sky.

“I don’t think so,” she answers. “I mean, my granny really wants me to learn hand-to-hand combat, so I guess I’ll learn that, but other than that…” She looks over to Emma and smiles. “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what the new year has in store for me.” Despite having fire in her veins, that smile warms Emma up from the inside out.

“Yeah, I don’t really have them, either,” Emma replies. She’s only lying a little bit, because there has been one thing that she wants to do, but… No. Ruby wouldn’t like that. It’s not really lying when, besides kissing her best friend, Emma doesn’t actually have anything she wants to achieve in the new year, right?

“How long until midnight?” Ruby asks. Emma glances down at her stolen watch.

“Five minutes,” she replies. Ruby shifts a little closer to her on the bench. “Are you cold?” Emma asks.

“A little,” Ruby says with a frown. “Why are we out here, anyways?”

“This is the best spot to see all the fireworks, duh,” Emma answers with a grin. Then she frees a hand from their joined ones, and puts her arm around Ruby’s shoulder, pulling her close. “Still cold?”

“Nope,” Ruby says with a grin, but her cheeks are getting red as well, so Emma makes sure to keep holding on tight. She glances down at her watch again, and again, and the feeling of Ruby pressed up so close to her makes Emma feel a little breathless. Emma looks down again and all of a sudden, midnight is really close.

“Ten seconds, Rubes,” she informs her friend as she looks up from her watch, turning her head to find Ruby’s face only a handful of inches from her own. Emma quickly glances down again. “Five seconds,” she says, and this time when she looks up and her eyes meet Ruby’s, there is something unrecognizable in them. “Four,” Emma continues shakily, “three, two…”

She trails off when fireworks start going off like thunder in front of them, coloring the sky bright red, green and yellow, and Ruby’s lips meet hers.

Spring, 2010

Emma is nineteen when Ruby finally convinces her to use her powers in the way she is apparently supposed to, which is using them the way she had already been using them while wearing a ridiculous costume.

“No way in hell am I wearing something like _that_ ,” Emma says. She’s currently looking at Ruby’s sketchbook, which is filled with stickmen all shooting fireballs from their hands, while wearing something that looks like it’s the lovechild of Batman and Spider-Man’s costumes. It’s red all over, it has a cape that reaches the ground, it has an elaborate mask, and it is entirely too conspicuous for a common thief like Emma.

“What?” Ruby says innocently. “You’ve already got the name of a supervillain, why not get the costume?” Emma rolls her eyes.

“Look, ‘Nightflame’ is a ridiculous name and whatever so-called journalist that came up with it should quit their job,” she replies.

“I don’t know, Em,” Ruby says with a shrug. “It’s pretty accurate, right? You work at night, you make flames. Besides, it’s catchy.” Emma rolls her eyes again, before walking over to her couch and plopping down on it. Okay, it’s doesn’t actually belong to _her_ , but to her roommate, Mary Margaret; the kind soul who had been sweet enough to let Emma, with all her physical and emotional baggage, move into the spare bedroom of her already furnished apartment.

“Alright, so the name is… fine, I guess,” Emma concedes. Ruby isn’t the type to back down easily, after all. “But I’m not wearing something crazy like you just drew. You can’t draw for shit, by the way.”

“Thanks, Nightflame,” Ruby replies dryly, “you’re a real charmer.”

“Also,” Emma continues, because the amount of flaws with this whole costume idea are numerous, “I’d need something I could change out quickly. Like, I don’t know how Bruce Wayne does it, but normal people can’t change out of a skintight suit _that_ fast.”

“That’s actually a good point,” Ruby says as she sits down next to Emma and turns on the tv. “You could just wear that red leather jacket you always wear, but with a mask.”

“So basically you’re saying I should wear a mask?” Emma deadpans.

“Yes,” Ruby answers. “But also the jacket. I don’t care how old it is, I think it fits _Nightflame_.” She says it in that exaggerated low voice, as if Emma really has an alter ego like Batman.

“I’ll tell you what,” Emma says, “if you can get me a simple, black mask, I’ll wear it. Scout’s honor.” Ruby huffs a laugh.

“Pretty sure you using that phrase is a disgrace for scouts nationwide, but sure thing.”

When they prepare to go out that night, Ruby catches Emma a little off guard when she hands her a simple black mask. How she had time to get it, or whether she had this ready for Emma all along is beyond her, but a promise is a promise so Emma rolls her eyes and puts it on. Their target for tonight is a little bigger than the stuff they usually steal, so Emma is feeling a little on edge. They’re going to be breaking into an art gallery to steal two paintings that Mr. Gold has apparently had his eye on for a while now, and with the way Emma has control over her powers now, branching out seems like it could really work in all of their favors.

Ruby and Emma, or as they’re more often called now when out on the streets, Werewolf and Nightflame, work like an oiled machine. They roll up to the back entrance of the gallery in a stolen Chevy, and with Nightflame melting the lock and Werewolf disabling the alarms, they’re in. Nightflame walks through the gallery quickly, scanning all the works that line the walls and their labels. Finally, she finds the ones they’ve been looking for. After calling Werewolf over, the two super criminals take the paintings down, strip them from their frames, and roll them up. With the two paintings under her arm, Nightflame walks back to the door they came in from. A quick in-and-out, just how she likes it.

Of course, just when Emma thinks they’ve made it, her luck turns. As soon as her hand touches the doorknob, the entire door freezes solid and is knocked out of its hinges, knocking Nightflame and Werewolf backwards.

“Werewolf, hold these, please?” Nightflame grits out through her teeth as she hands the paintings to her companion. As soon as they leave her hands, she balls her fists and lets the fire burn its way out of her skin. Just as she’s about to walk outside to see whoever dared to interrupt their heist, a woman enters. She’s clad entirely in black, including the mask that obscures her face, making Nightflame pause. Are there actually more people out there crazy enough to wear masks?

“Put down those paintings,” the woman says before Nightflame can think any more about this strange, mask-wearing coincidence.

“Why don’t you come over here and make us?” Nightflame retorts. The woman cracks a grin and suddenly, the temperature within the gallery seems to drop rapidly. Nightflame can see her breath and grimaces. What the hell is going on here? Before she can ask, however, the woman sprints forward, so Nightflame does what she always does when someone is crazy enough to try and fight her: she pulls back her fist, charges it with heat, and swings it forward just as the woman comes within her range. Surprisingly, instead of getting punched in the face, the woman ducks and shoots something from her hands, hitting Nightflame square in the chest with what seems like… Ice? “Okay, what the hell,” Nightflame murmurs as a bright flame flares from her hand and melts it. She stands back up and sees Ruby embracing her inner acrobat with the way she jumps, ducks and somersaults out of the way of the woman’s ice blasts. “What the _hell_ ,” Nightflame murmurs again. “I thought I was the only one with powers.”

“Some help over here, please, Nightflame!” Werewolf shouts, effectively breaking Nightflame out of her thoughts. She leaps forward with blazing fists, bringing down a wall of fire on the woman. The stranger is quicker though, and turns around to erect a shield of ice that protects her from the flames. It doesn’t matter—Nightflame is close now, and close combat is her favorite way of fighting. She rapidly throws some heated punches, hitting the woman through her shield in the chest, stomach and face, before the woman has had enough and blasts her away with a powerful icy torrent. Nightflame is knocked into a painting, bringing it down with her in her fall, and out of pure anger and frustration she slams a burning fist through the canvas, which immediately catches on fire.

“You!” the woman hisses, sounding pissed like she owns this goddamned gallery, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t know!” Nightflame exclaims, exasperated. “We were doing just fine before you came along!” The woman stalks over to where Nightflame is sitting, her back against the wall she had just been thrown into, surrounded by a handful of little fires that were accidentally started by the flames from her hands. With one fluid movement, the stranger grabs Nightflame by her collar with both hands and lifts her up against the wall until she’s standing again.

“Give me the paintings,” the woman says, slowly and clearly, as if she’s talking to a child, “and I’ll make sure they won’t make the cuffs too tight when the police come to arrest you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, mysterious ice lady,” Nightflame responds. She’s still really irritated, and that’s usually when her sarcastic nature comes out to play. “Maybe when Hell freezes over. But you could probably make that happen, so let’s say… Over my dead body?” Nightflame can see the murderous look in the woman’s eyes through her mask. She wouldn’t _really_ … Right? Good guys don’t kill crooks.

“Fine by me,” the woman grumbles, and then proceeds to freeze Nightflame’s body to the wall. Nightflame has no idea how she does it so quickly, even when using both hands, because in only a couple of seconds, her entire body below the neck is stuck in solid ice. Shit. The woman turns around to assess the rest of the gallery. It’s empty, but then Werewolf comes bursting back in. Nightflame grins. That probably means the paintings are in the car and good to go. She starts concentrating on emitting as much heat from every part of her body without outright burning her clothes. The ice around her hands melts fastest, and before she knows it, Nightflame can use her arms to tear away the last remainders of the ice. In the meantime, Werewolf and the stranger have become absorbed in an intense fight, with Werewolf continuously trying to get close, and the woman repeatedly countering with blasts of ice. When Werewolf has to duck out of the way of one of those again, Nightflame uses the opening to jump forward with a burning fist and hitting the woman in her back, between the shoulder blades. She doubles over with a cry, and Nightflame wastes no time in grabbing Werewolf’s hand and half-leaping, half-flying through the back entrance they came from. Once outside, the two thieves sprint to their getaway car and speed away. Nightflame looks back, seeing the woman burst out of the gallery building with a furious burst of ice, before Werewolf turns a corner and she’s out of sight.

The day after their successful heist marks Nightflame’s first time on the front cover of the Boston Herald: “Gallery destroyed after super criminal ‘Nightflame’ encounters Black Blizzard: two paintings stolen, building burned down”. It’s something of an achievement, so Ruby takes her out for drinks with their hard-earned heist money.

Spring, 2017

Emma can proudly say that today is the first day she really, _profoundly_ feels like a hero. It’s another late night and Nightflame and the Black Blizzard are patrolling the city, flying from rooftop to rooftop, silently observing the city as it sleeps. It’s become a routine for them, ever since Regina had gotten the go-ahead from the mayor, to go out together. Regina remains convinced that practice makes perfect, and that interning under the watchful eye of the Blizzard is the best way for Nightflame to go from vigilante-bordering-on-criminal to being a full-blown superhero.

Tonight is another in a series of many that’s supposed to make that happen. Nightflame has already stopped countless of petty crimes: break-ins, robberies, stolen cars. Basically everything she used to do herself, while growing up. It feels a bit strange to be on the other side of all of that now. Every time they alert the cops that they’ve caught another one who went off the straight and narrow path, Emma feels a kind of regret, because she knows what kind of situations drive people to commit crimes like this. Hunger, fear and an utter resignation that things are ever going to turn around; she recognizes it in at least half of all the criminals they catch. Of course there are the ones who steal or deal for all the wrong reasons; clout on the street, the promise of a fast life… There is a certain satisfaction in grabbing those larger-than-life types by the wrist and accidentally melting the Rolex that’s on it.

Basically, being a hero makes Emma feel a bit torn. On the one hand, she loves fighting for a cause and beating up bad guys. On the other, there is the whole moral aspect of whose fault it _really_ is that some people are committing crimes, which gives her headaches and some sleepless nights. Regina doesn’t really see the difference, but then again Regina has never had to choose between breaking the law or going to sleep hungry. The only thing Emma can do is hope that the people they apprehend get the opportunity to really turn their lives around, instead of disappearing into a prison cell. Those feelings Emma has, that uncertainty about whether she’s actually doing the right thing by acting like a hero—That changes tonight.

She’s out with Regina, and they’ve just gotten word of a police chase that’s going on in the heart of the city. A white convertible, a driver, possible firearms and a woman, who is riding shotgun and probably is accidentally being caught up in it all.

They catch up soon enough, because traffic is easily beaten when you’ve got powers that’ll let you fly right over it. The white Cadillac is speeding through traffic some ten feet below them, swerving in and out of the lane with oncoming cars in an effort to overtake the small number of cars out on the road right now, in the middle of the night. It’s incredibly illegal, not to mention stupidly dangerous, so it’s paramount that they catch this driver as soon as they possibly can. Of course, that’s when the guy drives up the Tobin bridge.

“Oh, shit,” Nightflame says, faltering a little bit in her flying.

“I’m going to freeze his right front wheel,” Black Blizzard yells to her over the relentlessly surging wind. “His car is going to turn. Be ready to catch the passengers.”

“What?!” Nightflame yells back. _Catch the passengers_?

“I know you can do it, Nightflame,” the Blizzard yells, while extending her arms, palms facing forward, ready to strike. “It’ll be okay.” Nightflame swallows a little uneasily, then flies down, closer to the bridge. Regina believes in her. She can do it. Probably. A blast of ice shoots past her, hitting the car exactly where it’s supposed to and causing the convertible to make a sharp right turn now that the right front wheel is stuck. Narrowly avoiding two cast iron beams, the car rushes off the side of the bridge, straight towards Nightflame. A burst of fire from her fists propel her forwards and Nightflame grabs both the driver and the woman by their clothes easily enough.

One problem: now the hands she uses for flying are occupied with carrying two full-sized human beings. _Shit_ , Nightflame thinks _, shit shit shit_. A second passes with this realization and she can already feel the g-forces shifting against her favor. There is no time to think, so Nightflame closes her eyes, focuses and lets her fire forcefully erupt from her feet. It’s unsteady and she’s out of balance, but it keeps her in the air as the white convertible crashes into the Mystic River below.

Somehow, Nightflame makes it back to the bridge, where the Blizzard is waiting and ready to cuff the driver. He’s definitely under the influence of something, if the full-blown size of his pupils is anything to go by, so Nightflame leaves him in the care of the scariest superhero she knows, and goes to comfort the woman.

“Are you alright?” she says, while draping her trademark red leather jacket around the woman’s shaking shoulders. She nods, but her teeth are clattering, so Nightflame warms up her hands and rubs the woman’s arms too, for good measure. She is so preoccupied with trying to calm the woman down that Nightflame doesn’t even notice the amount of time that goes by, only stopping when the police sirens have reached them and other, more qualified people come to take her off her hands. Nightflame watches her being led into an ambulance with her hands buried in the pockets of her jeans, feeling a little useless now.

“Hey,” the Black Blizzard says, coming from behind her to stand next to Nightflame, the pair of them watching the scene before them. “You did quite good. Shame about the boots, though.”

“Huh?” Nightflame replies, before looking down and seeing her bare feet on the asphalt. Her boots and jeans, all the way up to her knees, are gone—probably instantly burned when she shifted to using her feet for flying. “Oh, great,” she murmurs, feeling a bit annoyed. “I liked those boots.” The Blizzard dares to chuckle at her, so Nightflame playfully punches her in the shoulder. “Nice shot though, boss.” Nightflame can see the eye roll that follows despite the mask.

“Will you stop calling me that?” Black Blizzard sighs, exasperated, but with the corner of her mouth pulled upwards in a smile. Nightflame grins back, then goes back to checking her outfit again. Her mouth immediately turns downwards though, because—

“Hey, she—I gave that woman my jacket!” Nightflame says with a pout, because as soon as the words leave her mouth, the ambulance with the woman she saved drives away. The Blizzard laughs again.

“Seems like not much of your outfit remains, Nightflame,” she says, while she reaches down and takes her hand. “Though…” The next part is whispered, the hero’s mouth so close to Nightflame’s ear that she can feel a soft breath hit the side of her face. “I thought it was sweet how you kept her warm. Reminded me of another night…” Nightflame smiles.

“Oh yeah. When you were thrown into the harbor by the mob and I was acting all suicidal—good times.” The Blizzard’s thumb rubs a few little circles over Nightflame’s knuckles before she lets go.

“I’m glad you’ve turned things around since then,” she says, and Nightflame smiles.

“Yeah,” she answers, “me too.” And she means it; Nightflame’s life has always been a struggle. Stealing and running and destroying things… But now, she’s found a way to use her powers for good, and that’s exactly how it feels when she does: _good_. This must be what it feels like to be a hero, Emma thinks as she balls her fists and lets her flames take her up, following in the Blizzard’s trail, off to stop some more crime and, more importantly, save some more people.

Summer, 2017

It just pops out one day. “I think I’m in love with you.” Regina looks equal parts touched and horrified and it makes Emma chuckle a little bit, because yeah, she just totally caught her girlfriend off guard. So she tries again.

“I _know_ I’m in love with you,” she says. Regina, who had been totally absorbed in her work just moments earlier, stands up from her spot at the kitchen table and joins Emma on the couch, immediately joining their hands together. “Actually,” Emma continues, “I think I have been for a while.” She can’t keep her eyes off Regina, so she sees all the emotions that flicker behind her eyes; a little fear, apprehension, but also trust and love, so much love that’s looking back at her. Emma smiles and pulls Regina close, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips.

“You’re not usually this sentimental,” Regina remarks airily, but the small tremble in her voice betrays the gravity of the situation.

“I’m not usually in love with someone,” Emma counters. “I’d say this is my first time.” Regina huffs a laugh, then turns her head away.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“About what?” Emma asks back. It doesn’t even occur to her what Regina is really asking until she turns back to Emma, uncertainty expressed clearly and calmly in her eyes. “Wait, you mean about you?” Emma continues, and Regina nods.

“There have been… people, before, who’ve said what you just did, and…” Regina sighs, an undertone of bitterness evident in her voice as she goes on. “And eventually, decided that in the end, I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.” Emma stays silent. She can only look at Regina, so effortlessly beautiful and kind, with her irrefutable sense of justice, and the care with which she’s always helping people.

“I don’t understand,” she replies eventually. “What ‘trouble’?” It’s unimaginable to Emma that someone could be in a relationship with the woman that’s sitting next to her right now, and think there is any aspect at all about Regina that is somehow troublesome. It’s completely crazy.

“Well,” Regina says, “my ex, Robin, used to complain that I was away all the time, and too busy with my work. It was his main reason for breaking things off with me.”

“Okay, first off, he sounds like an idiot,” Emma says. “Sure, you’re a busy woman, but you spend all that time helping people. I don’t see a problem with that. If anything, I want to do everything I can to help you do it.” The grin that breaks out on Regina’s face at those words is pure joy and contentedness, and Emma can’t help but smile back when Regina kisses her again.

“You’re entirely too sweet for your own good, Ms. Swan,” Regina murmurs against her lips. “I might just take you up on that offer.”

“As long as you don’t call me your sidekick, I’m good,” Emma chuckles. She’s about to go right back to making out with Regina like a pair of infatuated teenagers, when she hears the front door to Regina’s apartment fall shut. With a sigh, Emma pulls back, but she keeps her arm around Regina’s shoulders, holding the other woman firm in place, snuggled into Emma’s side. A moment later, Henry enters the living room. “’Sup, kid?” Emma says with a big grin on her face. “How was school?”

“Boring. So, the same as always,” Henry answers as he flops down on the couch, next to Regina. After a moment of careful observation, he says: “What’s up with the two of you?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Emma replies. “I just told your mom I’m in love with her.” Henry nods as he reaches for the remote and changes the channel on the tv.

“Well, _duh_ ,” he says, “wasn’t that obvious?”


End file.
